I take a seat at the twelve-seater table. There is a little dog asleep in a basket underneath it. Lauren takes another selfie, holding her left hand up and looking lovingly at her engagement ring.

‘My fans like to know when I’m doing wedding stuff,’ she says, typing something then bringing her phone over to the table where I’m sitting, and leaving it face up right in front of her. I notice that notifications from Instagram flood her home page. I only have seventy-three followers, but I had to turn the notifications off because they were driving me mad. Why wouldn’t someone with 2.1 million do the same?

‘So how is everything going with the sponsorship deal, is there anything I can do to help? Obviously it’s quite a unique set-up?’ I ask, referring to the million pounds Veuve Clicquot have offered her for posting Instagram posts throughout the day, featuring them heavily, and as many pictures of the happy couple as possible.

‘It is. It’s quite deliberate,’ she says. I’m not quite sure what she means. It shows on my face. ‘You know, to show I don’t have an issue talking about champagne?’

‘Ohhhhh,’ I say, realising she is referring to the rumour about Gavin shoving a bottle of champagne up a girl’s fanny.

‘Also, I’m one of the first to do a deal like this. It’s very exciting. Of course Gav said I didn’t need to do it but I like to show people I don’t rely solely on my husband. I’ll have total control over the images. My photographer will bring a retoucher, so they can work on the pictures as they are taken, I can approve them and then my mum will post them with a comment.’

‘Are you sure your mum is happy to do that, won’t she be wanting to enjoy the day?’

‘You’ve met my mother?’

‘I have indeed. She certainly knows what she wants for you.’

‘Sure, that’s one way to look at it. Anything to show the world how wonderful our lives are.’ She drops her head, looking sad, and I can’t tell whether or not it’s an act as we sit in this huge, beautiful kitchen.

‘I’m contracted to do twenty-five pictures on the day, but it might be more. We have to give my followers what they want.’

‘You talk about them like they are your babies,’ I say, jokingly.

‘I think of them that way. I wouldn’t exist without them.’

‘You wouldn’t exist without them? Of course you would.’

‘No, I wouldn’t. Not in any real sense.’

‘In any real sense?’